


The Taste of Apples

by voleuse



Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-15
Updated: 2005-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>What we call rain is really tears.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Apples

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for S2. Title, summary, and headings adapted from _The things they don't tell you about heaven_ by Jill Alexander Essbaum.

_i. apples still taste like apples_

He's long known, objectively, that his wife was alive. He's even come to terms with who she really was, and set aside who she pretended to be.

Once she surfaces, once she _shoots_ Sydney, he feels the slow finger of fury creeping up his spine. He thinks, should he ever look this woman in the eye, he won't even hesitate. He will kill her for hurting Sydney.

So when Jack receives the call, immediately after Emily's funeral, he has trouble processing the message, because this isn't something he ever expected.

"I'm sorry," he clips out, walking away from the crowd of mourners. "I must have misheard you. Could you repeat that?"

The message is repeated, and when Sydney appears, he breaks the news to her, makes it a little more real.

Irina Derveko is not only alive, but in custody.

He does not like the idea of this at all.

_ii. serpents taste like apples too, and kisses_

Several days pass, and Jack manages not to confront her, for official or unofficial reasons. He doesn't so much as glance in the direction of her cell, though he can feel the weight of others' glances at his back.

Too many people would be satisfied if he paid a visit to Irina Derevko. Jack isn't interested in satisfying anyone.

When Sydney becomes too trusting, however, when she's too willing to put herself on the line at Derevko's word, he decides it is time to intervene.

He approaches her cell without fanfare, showing his pass to the guards and walking the gauntlet of locks and bars.

Her back is to him, when he finally reaches her cell. She's been doing push-ups. He eyes the lines of her body dispassionately; she is bonier than she used to be, but stronger.

When she turns to face him, meets his eyes, he doesn't even twitch.

She stands, puts a hand to her mouth, thoughtfully. He remembers the rings she used to wear. He does not consider whether he prefers the elegance of her fingers bare.

When she speaks, her voice is the same, though now he can detect her accent, in the very flatness of her voice. It's too conscious, too practiced. She must not have been practicing over the years, he thinks.

After their conversation, he does not acknowledge the looks the guards give him, nor the questioning voices of his coworkers.

He completes his tasks for the afternoon efficiently and effectively.

Just as he always does.

_iii. it is all about apples, this place_

After that first, tense meeting, Jack finds himself opposite Derevko more often, though she's never as cooperative with him as she is with Sydney. She does, however, speak to him, which is more than anyone besides Agent Vaughn manages.

Jack believes she'll only talk to those she might cause pain. He refuses to allow that possibility in himself, and by consenting to work with Derevko, he prevents her from inflicting more pain on Sydney.

Sydney does well in getting information quickly from Derevko. Jack, it is discovered, gets _more_ information from her, over time.

It's slow, like the crumbling of a mountain. He asks her the same sorts of questions, about Rambaldi, about her organization, about other organizations. Things that aren't necessarily urgent, but might be helpful in the long run.

She never gives away the whole picture. Perhaps she'll let slip a few words, a name, a possible location. Less than that, just a reference, an _implication_ of those vital tidbits.

While Jack gathers that intel, he finds himself inadvertently gathering information of a different sort. It's like putting together a profile, but like none he's ever compiled before.

It's her impatience, the half-formed insults she never voices, the way she gestures with her hands, sharply, when she's tired of interrogation. The way Laura would move when they argued.

It's her eyes, the way she looks at him. A harder gaze than he's used to, but what's behind is the same. Intelligence, awareness, the faintest glimpse of humor.

It's her hands, the way she constantly tucks her hair behind her ear. That, that is exactly the same.

In everything she says, everything she does, he sees the woman he married, transposed onto a murderer.

He does not remember when he stopped calling her Laura, in the back of his head. He does not remember when he stopped calling her Derevko.

He does not remember when he began to call her Irina, but he's careful to never let that name slip past his lips.

_iv. the moon is a pendulum clock_

Allowing Irina out on the field will be disastrous, Jack thinks. He submits this opinion in writing, twice, and vehemently makes the argument to Devlin in person.

When he finally resigns himself to her participation, he resolves to supervise the mission himself.

Op Tech provides him with the necklace, fitted with explosives, and he studies the trigger carefully as they instruct him.

He takes it to Irina, explains how he'll hold her life in his hands, literally.

He tries not to relish the moment.

When he moves to clasp the jewelry around her neck, she sweeps her hair up, to give him better access.

As he leans close, fingers manipulating the necklace precisely. Their eyes meet, in challenge, and remembrance.

He doesn't fumble as he closes the circuit of the explosive, and he draws back carefully, not touching her the warmth of her skin.

As the other agents enter the cell, Jack looks at Irina, and realizes she still uses the same shampoo.


End file.
